


Trimming

by MewMewPsychic



Category: Ori and the Blind Forest, Ori and the Will of the Wisps
Genre: Body Horror, Seir is worst mother, Some Swearing, being a tree is not fun, some blood, trimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MewMewPsychic/pseuds/MewMewPsychic
Summary: Valway, last son of the Spirit Willow, Seir's rightful heir, and the betrayed inheritor of Niwen's Light, needs to trim. Since this is boring, his mind wanders a bit as he does.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	Trimming

**=/= Trimming =\=**

_Smatch smatch smatch_  
  
He reached out, pushing the obstruction out of his face.  
  
_Smatch smatch smatch_  
  
He stopped. It was just too hard to keep going. The worst part, he knew all too well why. The weight was awful, dragging his antennas down and with every step, he kept slowing down, as though they tried to dig in. He came to a stop, a hand supporting his weight as he stopped. He felt the tree, felt it in ways he didn't want to. Stretching beyond the reach of his fingers. And as he breathed, he felt air filtering all around him.  
  
He groaned as he sat down on a large stone. He wiggled his fingers and felt the discomfort, the stiffness in them. Like giant gloves all over his hands. Gloves that he felt through. It never got any less surreal to feel the air filtering through.  
  
He sighed.  
  
First things first...  
  
Willing the Spirit Edge into existence. He couldn't correctly wrap his hand around it. The large things smashed against one another as he tried to close his fingers around it. And so, without the stability of a good grip, the hilt and the blade attached to it trembled slightly. Not good. But then, he had waited a rather long time to do this. He frowned.  
  
"What's the matter? Growing more comfortable? Are you perhaps finally going to be mature and accept it?"  
  
A pale yellow sphere of Light passed before him. For a moment, cold sweat streamed down his body and the trembling no longer had anything to do with the weight. But then, he knew that sphere. He knew what it was. And he bared his fangs at it.  
  
"You aren't her. It's not funny."  
  
He didn't answer. Why should he talk to himself?  
  
He's going mad.  
  
...  
  
... but then, many would argue he's been mad for years.  
  
He just want to get rid of those things and not feel weighted down.  
  
The blade shook. He just couldn't close his hands. He wish he could just lop the things off. Fast, can heal faster, forget faster. But with his hands in such a state, he could not. It was already hard to merely clench his hands.

He wish he could just settle the blade on the base and cut there. He had tried to do that before. Emphasis on 'tried'. Without cutting down excesses, the thing had resisted for what felt to be hours. It had been agony. He'd have to do it the slow way. He always has to do it the slow way.  
  
He started with the outermost ones. Unable to keep his blade steady, he settled it on the surface. He felt the rough texture on the blade and the burning feel of the blade on its skin. Yes, he call it skin. He refuse to call it something else. He refuse to. It is skin. Shut up.  
  
It wasn't thick. So it stung for a while and left him wincing... but it was over in a second. Not bad. Unfortunately, it was just the start.  
  
He felt the air intake reduced as it was cut and hit the ground. A small leaf, pale green, almost blue. Good. He hated it.  
  
Okay. Not much pain. Just stinging for a moment. Pace yourself. Cut. Focus on cutting the outermost growths. Small bits first. Avoid those that glow bright green or got a pale white complexion for now. His eyes twitched and his teeth ground as he slid the blade to and fro, slowly, settling it on smaller parts. Avoiding larger ones for now ; the blade shakes. That means it will shift back and forth, tearing cuts wider if he try to cut larger growths right away. Twisting a blade into somebody always hurt a lot. He knows. He accidentally did it to himself a lot, after all.  
  
He tried not to yip or cry out. He admit he guessed a bit and had to shift his face a bit back and forth ; the antennas were too heavy to be shifted out of his field of vision and there was that obnoxiously glowing leaf on the left side. Good. He hate it.  
  
He tried to feel the growths with his blade. Old and snappy first. Tender for later.  
  
It took a long time. Everything took a long time when he was in that state.  
  
"Fitting. Slowing down until you cannot move anymore. I wonder if the true reason they can't move is because they are too weighted down to?"

Why do he keep talking to himself? He has no fucking idea.  
  
He can barely move his fingers on his other hand. He feel so many growths. Like fingers coming out of fingers coming out of fingers. But he tried it. It strained his hand. His muscles strained and hurt as the shifted what should have been a light bulk forward. He wish... he wish...  
  
Of course not.  
  
He could not close his hand. The branching growth met one another and caused a mess. Because of course they did. He cursed internally. He looked over the other hand and he sighed. It would be simpler with one hand free. But the mess on the other hand was even worse. He didn't want to even contemplate starting it without a free hand. Beside, his wrists were killing him.  
  
"How do they always point them upward? You'd think they would point down, from the weight."  
  
Oh right. He's talking to himself because he hate every second of this, it hurts, it's boring, and it takes forever.  
  
"Maybe you should get an gardener, sometime?"  
  
He felt like throwing up. He wanted to cry. It had been years and the idea was still enough to make him remember her laugh. Oh, she never _actually_ laughed. She had been dead inside millenia before he was born. But his mind never stopped picturing it. Especially whenever he had ideas like those. Just laughing. Him, needing to be trimmed, like some bush or... or... tree...  
  
She isn't here. He doesn't even know if she giggle at all. But he still heard her roll on the floor in deafening laughter.  
  
No. No. Just... cut. Get rid of the things.  
  
Why does it take freakin' forever?!  
  
"Maybe if you waited less time, next time?"  
  
He heard Light lovers complain about having to cut their hair, trim excess fur, or take care of growing hooves and teeth.  
  
Ignorance is bliss.  
  
...  
  
Well, no two ways around it. He has to get to it. No 'solid' growth left on that hand anymore.  
  
... sigh.

Well, he has to face it. The blade still shook dangerously and he felt the sensation far more keenly. He knew that under that bit of skin, he refuse to call that anything else but skin, the insides were red. The glow was whiter, with a taint of green and he admit the first time, he had expected to look inside and see the green color of a young, growing branch. But instead, the insides were red, like the flesh inside his real body.  
  
Shut up. Like inside his real body. And yes, he shall keep calling it that way.  
  
He glared at his other self. Then he stared at his spirit self and he again pondered what he was doing and why he was reduced to this. And then the both of him figured this was depressing and that he should just cut and stop taking his sweet time about it all.  
  
He winced, eyes bulging out slightly as he let out a soft hiss between teeth, the skin breaking and peeling away under his blade's pressure. Yeeep. That is a young growth alright.  
  
The inside was, of course, red. But it did not bleed. Not immediately. He actually kind of hated it. He kind of hated it a lot. If you broke the skin on his real body, blood would flow right away. But then, that was because there were blood vessels directly within the skin and the entire thing was gorged with life. Within those growths, the blood is flowing deeper in.  
  
"Or is it sap?"  
  
No. No it isn't. And the question was pointless because he knows all too well. It's not sap. It's the same blood that flow in his body. It's the exact same blood.  
  
"... does... it mean that blood, not sap, flow through them?"  
  
All of him stopped for a moment. A question he had always pondered. The wood does look very, very veiny compared to normal trees. And he knew they felt pain in ways that normal trees can't feel.  
  
... can normal trees feel pain at all?  
  
...  
  
Waste of time. Cut.

Well, no more delaying. He sighed and then pushed the blade down. He instantly regretted it. It was a young growth alright. Tender, soft, life-filled. Unable to properly grasp the handle and unable to take a good swing, he had to saw through it. The good news were, the growth wasn't exactly thick ; he had picked the growth to cut well. The issue was, it was a young growth. His blade jerked back and forth unevenly as it slid back and forth. To make it worse, his body twitched from the surges of pain that went from the stupid thing into his hand and then into his arm.  
  
This thing isn't even a real part of him. Not really. And yet, it hurt like a bitch.  
  
After what felt like forever, with a snap, his blade got through. Then because it was a young growth and young growths are the worst, the back of the thing remained attached causing the half-severed thing to swing back and whip him in the arm. Because of course it did. And now the thing is hanging from a thread, feeling like awful dead weight, while the nerves felt on fire, and the thing had just whipped his wrist and by the divine power this was the worst!  
  
And of course, the unsteady blade meant that cutting through that would be a gamble.  
  
Maybe the threads are flimsy enough and he can shake the thing off?  
  
He tried it and instantly regretted it. He bit down a scream and almost toppled over. He caught himself though, thankfully ; if he toppled over, he might end up completely stuck in his own growths and then he'll have to burn through them. That would suck. And would be humiliating. Well, more humiliating than this already is. Has he mentioned he hate those things?  
  
"Why do they have to grow so fucking quickly?!"  
  
He agreed with other self, for once. Yes, this is the worst.  
  
He tried to put himself upright and... and...  
  
Oh great.  
  
A branch caught on a root when he fell down. Because of course it did.

He tried to make sense of where the two caught, that leaf in his field of vision made this a total pain by the way, and then noted the place at which they caught. OK. He just got to jerk his arm like this... and his leg like this and...  
  
**SON OF A BITCH!!**  
  
A small root caught on a young leaf, impaled it, and then tore it off. That hurt like hell! Seriously! That hurt like hell!  
  
For a moment, he pondered how the real things might feel, given they're entirely made of parts like these and, being as they are, have the wind catching on them at full strength. And birds. And cats.  
  
... you know what?  
  
Ignorance is bliss. Yes. Ignorance is bliss.  
  
"You already know enough that you can picture it."  
  
He hated himself for thinking such things.  
  
Well, at least the thing is... no. young growth still attached by a thread. Still hurts a lot.  
  
You know what? Screw that thing. He'll just ignore it and keep cutting.  
  
He sighed deeply. Yep. Young growth cutting time. More unsteady blade antics.  
  
How long does it take? Did he ever calculate?  
  
Oh yeah, he did, once. Literal hours. An entire day. Maybe an afternoon, start to finish, if it goes quickly. But likely longer. And it hurts the entire time. It's the absolute worst. He thought it was insanely boring to see gardeners just hack away at trees for hours on end. He now know that it is far worse than it looks.  
  
He hope Decay will not need anything remotely tree-like in the world it is creating. He hate trees. Profoundly.  
  
And it just keep going. And it just keep going. And the blade has to slowly saw off each growth. And the more he goes, the worse it gets.  
  
Because once he is done with the small branches? Ooooh no, he's not done. He has to cut the big ones.  
  
He started near the tip. Do it in parts, not all at once. Hurts more but steady progress means it will be done. Don't leave it halfway. Don't... don't procrastinate more...

Teeth gritting, he broke the skin on the halfway point of one of the big branches. And then, he was so tempted, so temped to clench his eyes shut and cry. That wasn't a few seconds affair. The thick growth was, well, thick and thus far more enduring than any of the smaller growths. It also meant that as he cut through, blood oozed out. He had to keep looking as to ensure he'd actually cutting straight through.  
  
He doesn't want a repeat of when he put himself in agony and opened an eye to gasp in pure horror, finding out his hand had slipped and he had cut diagonally. It had hurt so much. And there had been so much blood. So much blood...  
  
He had just laid there for who knows how long, jaws agape in a silent scream, cursing himself for the dumb move. And with the way the cut was done? He couldn't lop off that diagonal spike he had just created. He needed to cut deeper to get rid of the thing.  
  
"Ascension is the greatest honor a spirit can be given."  
  
Yes, thank you me. Thank you for reminding him that there exist freaks out there who look at people like him and just cannot understand for the life of them why anybody would be remotely hesitant at something like this.  
  
Who wouldn't want to experience this? Isn't just the most wonderful and amazing thing in the world? Ooooh yes! It is such an awesome, amazing thing! Why wouldn't he, or anybody else, possibly want this? My, it is such a honor! Such a great thing!  
  
"Of course, they're not the ones who have to become like this. They just watch and enjoy the Light."  
  
Of course. It is so easy to say it's a honor when you're not the one who actually has to go through this. Or when you're some stupid ball of Light who get a shiny leafy throne.  
  
Such a honor! Such an amazing gift!  
  
They have no idea what it feels like. All they feel is the warmth of the Light on their fur and skin. And then they _dare_ to say to him that he 'can't accept'. That they are 'not crippled', they 'have grown into adults, into their full potential'.

He wonder how those beings would like it to be like this. And for a moment, plans entered his mind.  
  
All of those hypocrites. Who point at him and call him weak. Who think they are better than him because they can 'accept' a fate they'll never experience anyway. Or that stupid orb, who won't be the one to be in this state. He thought of combining his Light with a flow of Decay to 'stretch' the bodies of those fools. To root them in place. To make them know how it _actually_ feels to have such an _amazing honor_.  
  
And he raged and he hated and... and he's not cutting those growths.  
  
He glared at himself, floating by his spirit's head. And briefly, he glared at himself, using his spirit's eyes. The weighted down antennas made the scene awkward. Maybe he could use Spirit Flames to burn quickly most of the growths?  
  
... and set himself on fire?  
  
But then, he can always heal and it would be one big pain that would pass quickly.  
  
... oh come on! He's not that desperate yet, isn't he?  
  
... sigh...  
  
Just... going back to the boring cutting.  
  
Okay. He cut. And cut. And tried not to cry. And he's nearly through and-  
  
_snap_  
  
Why is this happening _again_?! Now the big branch is also hanging by a thread! And it's weighting down his entire hand!  
  
OK. This is stupid. He need to be able to grasp his Spirit Edge. This can't go on. He obviously made a mistake, waiting for those things to grow so long. He didn't think they were that long but obviously, he was mistaken. Well, nothing he can do expect cut.  
  
He knew he would regret this. He knew he would regret this. But he needed to do this. And so, he slid the Spirit Edge all the way to the halfway point of the primary growth from the middle finger. He should do this in more steps but he need to be able to grasp his blade's handle. He can't just go shaky cuts on every one of his growths! It will just result in more broken parts hanging by a thread that he can't get rid of.

Cutting primary growths was a bitch. They were thick. So very thick. It was very messy. He couldn't keep himself sitting. He actually knelt and then laid on his belly. He was panting, his jaws opening and closing. His entire body shook and his body kept trying to force him to remove the blade. The Light flared out and he felt the world so bright in all of the wrong ways. He wasn't dying ; he knew all too well this wasn't anything like this. But his mind swam as he worked to amputate the growth.  
  
He couldn't afford it hanging by a thread. And so, he pushed his hand against the stone and the growth, against the ground. He kept cutting, deeper and deeper. Even as he felt the pain that coursed through his entire limb.  
  
And then, he felt the skin underneath give away. His middle finger trembled and trembled. He felt the drop in weight. It was still awfully, unnaturally heavy for a finger but slowly, his body trembling, he flexed the finger. There was still a giant growth sticking out from the bulbous, roots-filled growth but with much effort, his arm straining... one finger grew close-ish to the palm of his hand.  
  
...  
  
That makes one.  
  
Oh by the divine power. That makes one. He has to do it two more times! He hate this! He hate this so much! Why does it have to take so long?! He didn't think he let them grow like this...  
  
_It's just like shaving your fur or cutting excess parts off your teeth and hooves!_ Whoever once said that, he hate profoundly. It doesn't feel like you're lopping off one off your fingers whether you cut a strand of fur. Excess fur don't leave blood all over the place.  
  
But he has to keep going. Once he has shortened the growths from each finger on one hand, he'll be able to get a decent grip on his Spirit Edge. This will allow him to hack off smaller branches and roots without having to saw off everything. Oh and while sawing off things, he'll be able to get good, straight cuts.  
  
It will still hurt but... the blade will no longer be twisting.

With a sigh, he got back to work.  
  
And yes, it was as dull as work. And as he winced as more small branches were cut, this time from the growth coming out of his thumb, he again pondered what everyone saw in all of this.  
  
He remembered the stories and memories of a few spirits he encountered. He remembered how once, he had been so completely unable to understand them. How could anybody be remotely happy at the kind of fate he now has? At least, he can move. He still is himself. Oh, it does suck a lot. He admit he hate looking at reflective surfaces, such as clear water. It's just so depressing to see himself. He remember when everyone told him he was such a cute, handsome little spirit.  
  
He remember the smooth white fur, the happy, innocent smile and the eyes full of life and hope. He remember looking at the world and being filled with wonder and dreams. Oh sure, he always found monsters scary and he was deathly afraid of becoming a tree but... the light of the sun once felt so warm and he loved the breeze. And he remember the smiles of everyone else too. Somedays, he wonder if Mekk is still alive. It is likely he was killed by one of his minions through the years or that he ran away from Niwen, a long time ago.  
  
Would it matter? He'd hate him if he saw him now. He'd hate himself if he saw him now.  
  
He was once upset at being short. Upset to be 'cute'. Now he's taller than everyone else. So much taller. Everyone is so small. And everything is so wrong.  
  
He had this gentle curve to his chest, you know. That was before his heart-Light had felt like it was exploding. Before his ribs were pushed apart, as to make the start of a heart-Light cradle for some stupid Light ball. Regeneration had undone the damage but the ribs had never settled back in place. Six of them now permanently stuck out. And the fur where that ball had entered his body never grew back. Regeneration had not worked to heal that particular wound. It just never healed.

His gaze lowered away from the cut. He shouldn't do it. But he did.  
  
His paws were once nice and smooth, you know. Nice hands, with which to grab things, fruit, loved ones, or other things. Hands or paws, whatever you named them, were nice things. He remembered how they used to be. Before that day.  
  
Now the tip of each of his fingers had grown gigantic, bulbous. Like plant bulbs, he mused. And down the fingers, into the hand and the wrists, he could see the veins that were now inflated, so massive and large. His fur had never grown back right on his hands. It wasn't quite like... like the skin on the growths but the way the veins arched and divided, it always reminded him of roots. He hated them. They looked ugly.  
  
He looked at them and for a moment, he was afraid. They went so far down his forearm. Had they grown since last time?  
  
He rationally knew they never grown. They hadn't grown since that day. Yet he felt like they had. Or maybe it was his fear. Every time he flexed his fingers, he felt them. It was like tiny strings in his hand. It didn't hurt but it bothered him. He used never to have those. Never to feel those. He hated them.  
  
It always felt strange, grabbing things now. To feel the new veins popping. To feel the stream of blood, stronger than before.  
  
And unfortunately, he knew why there was this greater flow. The large growths coming out of each bulbous finger spoke for itself. And he sighed.  
  
Somedays, he pondered, in bouts of total madness, if he should have new, longer arms made of those growths. Wouldn't it be cool to have a dozen arms? To grasp things with long, thin fingers that could do things his fat, original fingers could never hope of doing?  
  
But it was nothing but fanciful delusions.  
  
The growths are so thin because they have no muscles. They can't move. Not on their own. Any motion from them is from flexing his fingers.  
  
So many growths and limbs... and yet, be unable to move.

Why was his mind wandering like this when he should be focusing? Oh right. Boredom. And desperately trying to distract himself from the pain. He would like to pretend that he didn't see that stupid leaf hanging from that antenna. But it had bothered him for the last few days and its glow was distracting. As a spirit, he shouldn't be distracted by his own Light but somehow, that leaf was bothering him anyway.  
  
He kept his arm down. It was easier to cut like this. By now, he was growing a bit tired. Trimming it all down is harder than it sounds. He had a lot of endurance and strength but given he was bleeding himself and cutting himself in a rather literal way, it would be rather obvious that his body didn't appreciate it.  
  
When was the last time he did this? Was... was he growing faster? By the divine power, he hope he isn't. This is already bad enough as is...  
  
"You'll be a tree someday."  
  
... screw you too, other him.  
  
He didn't need to be reminded that all spirits become trees in time.  
  
He pondered... most spirits, when they grow old, have their fur at some spots fall off. Some parts become more dull. The Light become weaker. The back doesn't heal quite right and they lose sensation in the tail.  
  
Will it affect his growths in similar ways? Will they grow less, have leaves that fall on their own? Maybe they'll stop growing?  
  
...  
  
Given his destiny, the things would likely only grow faster and faster, starting to overtake his body. That would be the more logical approach, he guessed.  
  
But would he live that old? He has dangerous duties and he fights a lot of opponents. For all of his size and strength, he know many were worthy opponents. Sure, he tended to mock them for their ideals and naive ideas about the world but they were strong, determined Lights who had a strong will and determination to see their loved ones protected and the evils of the world annihilated.  
  
He guessed... he'll likely be a tree by then.  
  
Unless he wins. Then no more trees.  
  
…

He cringed. He sighed as he looked over the blood on the ground. His arms was trembling a tiny bit.  
  
He slowly reached with his thumb and finger. Both had still large growths coming out but at least, it was merely difficult to flex the fingers. After several seconds, he felt them close relatively well. The growths were scraping a bit against his fur but it wasn't too painful. Tentatively, he shifted his Light and made the Spirit Edge incarnate in his other hand.  
  
His grip wasn't solid. It was shaky. It wasn't even his good hand.  
  
... but it was better than a free floating blade.  
  
Progress!  
  
Slowly, agonizingly slow progress!  
  
He knew this would take hours, getting in.  
  
He lifted himself to his knees. It was so slow. At least nobody was here to ask awkward questions. Or to get horrified at his appearance.  
  
Well, everyone is always horrified of his appearance. But... he just...  
  
...  
  
Sometimes, he wondered if he should... if he should just...  
  
...  
  
And then what?  
  
What would it change? If they expressed pity instead of fear? He'd still be covered in ugly growths that keep him from moving. He'd still be freakishly tall. He'd still be scarred and covered in ugly growths. He'd still have those huge branches and leaves and vines coming out of his body. He'd still be doomed to become a tree.  
  
They'd still be doomed to become trees too.  
  
...  
  
... and the only thing he'd be able to do to free them is to put them out of their misery. And then they'd look at him, in tears, and beg him not to do it. And then cry, asking him why he's doing it.  
  
...  
  
It's... better if they fear him. Better if they hate him. Better if they see a monster. Not a cripple. Something to be scared of, to be defiant of. Not... something that will make them cry. Something that they want to hug in a vain, futile attempt at making him feel better.  
  
Nothing can make this feel better.  
  
He hacked off one of the smaller growth. The cut wasn't steady but it did the job. Progress. Woohoo. How nice.

He sighed. Why can't he ever be just plain meditative as he trim those things? When he's alone, in the silence and surrounded by stone, he can just go for hours without thinking anything. Just let... the darkness take his mind and just... dream of a world without trees. Of a world without Light orbs that steal the bodies of spirits. Of a world where... spirits are just another species. Where they don't spend their days hugging stupid trees and instead discover the secrets of the universe. And they build great things and cities. Cities of stone and iron, greater than the mightiest gumon and gorlek achievements.  
  
And in this mighty city, trees are nothing but a decoration. Or better yet, trees don't exist. Just grass. Because screw trees.  
  
And the spirits love. Yes, they love. Their Light blaze and glow with the song of males and females. And they know the embrace of parenthood. They create life and that life reach out to them. A cycle of life, a true cycle of life, as the mokis and great owls know. Nurture and love. Legacy, and parents who are alive and loving to share happiness with listening children. And who can hug their parents and children.  
  
Of a legacy that is not born of blood and suffering. Where you can give life without losing yourself. Where selfish Light orbs don't control the circumstance and moment of every spirit's birth, enslaving his kind.  
  
And then he wake up in a world where every spirit is born from impotent spherical gods who need to parasite his kind to live. A world where spirits become trees whether their journey succeed or fail. Of a world where they achieve nothing and build nothing, little more than 'guardian spirits' for trees screaming from the prison of their own mute, unmoving bodies.  
  
And then he feel sad.  
  
...  
  
And then he stops and he wonder why he waste his time trimming all those growths anyway. They'll grow back. And he'll be a tree anyway. From either time or somebody plunging a sharp thing in his heart-Light.

He can't even hold his face in his hands. He'd just scrap his face and likely put out one of his eyes.  
  
Sometimes, he ponder what's the point of it all. Why he was bothering at all.  
  
...  
  
But then, he didn't want to be a tree. He just... he don't want to be one. He just... he just...  
  
It already sucks so much to have all of those things grow out of him. Of how everyone is so horrified of him. And to know of all the things he can't do anymore. And to know he'll lose even more. And then to hear idiots who just praise this and WHO NEVER SHUT UP!  
  
... oh right. That is why he always delay trimming down.  
  
It brings that out in him.  
  
He twitched. And suddenly, he found that he no longer cared very much about pain. He just wanted those growths out. He wanted them gone. And so he screamed. And he screamed. And he cut.  
  
The cut was uneven. He didn't care. He slammed the blade into the base of the growth. He slammed it, like an axe. The blade bit deep and his scream of defiance died in his throat. And he didn't care. He cut. He cut. He don't think it should take that many hits. Oh, he's missing. Don't care. He cut. He cut. He cut.  
  
And almost the entirety of a growth was gone. And he collapsed on his back, panting.  
  
... it hurt so much. But it felt so... so much lighter.  
  
He liked that.  
  
...  
  
And then he felt the weight and sensations from all his other branches. There were so many. One from each finger. So that makes five. Not counting those he already trimmed almost completely.  
  
It juuuuuust got to take forever, doesn't it?  
  
Juuuust got to take forever.  
  
His thumb shook. His blade shook. Screw pain. His antennas slapped against his muzzles. He felt scratches from his violent motions as his own branches whipped his own body mercilessly. He didn't care anymore. He wanted to get rid of those things. His eyes bulged as he hacked away and he saw red liquid flow and splatter all over his hand, his chest, his belly. And he didn't care. Gone. He want them gone.

And then, he flexed his right hand and he felt the giant growths. Thick branches, like trunks. Because they were the start of secondary trunks and he knew it. But now, they were cut down so they were merely the length of his forearms. That is... heavy. That is... unwieldy.  
  
But it no longer stops him closing his hand into a fist, if he's careful. This is his good hand. He can grip the Spirit Edge properly good. And thus, he can actually trim down properly. Good. This is speeding up.  
  
Oh and he wanted to cut them at the base. To completely remove them. Sometimes, he pondered about sliding the tip and trying to dig out the roots.  
  
... wouldn't work.  
  
He had his arms amputated and regrown through Regeneration once. The... bulbous growths returned. And soon enough, new branches grown from them. He wish it hadn't been the case but somehow, they were a part of his body. Well, according to Regeneration and likely, destiny.  
  
Destiny can screw off.  
  
It hurt too much to remove them at the base. He tried it, once. Hurt for days. Never stopped.  
  
And so, his fingers shook as he chipped away. Carved them into a triangular shape. Claws.  
  
Nobody need to know what those really are, including himself.  
  
Claws. They are claws. Nice, sharp claws. He'll make sure to rake the trunk of the next tree he see when he get up. To make the forest feel his feelings on the issue. Nice claws with which to rip apart the children of the Light that inflicted this upon him.  
  
He fantasized about grabbing that heartless golden orb. Oh he would talk sweetly to 'mother'. How he would slowly call to her and squeeze, ever so slightly. Squeeze and squeeze until she cracked. And then feel her break in his hand. And he would use the very claws she cursed him with to break her. Clawing at her immaculate surface until she is nothing but dust on the ground. And then he'd conjure a gust of wind and spread that dust to the winds, to be forgotten.  
  
And nobody will say anything or remember her.

Just like she never say anything or remember the names of any of the spirits born from her Light and her enslaved vessels.  
  
That leaf in front of his face annoy him! With a growl, he snatched his antennas and pulled hard. He winced as the leaf was finally torn off. Then, with his new claws, he cut off the growths that weight them down. His 'claws' were still bleeding. He didn't care. He can always wash off the blood.  
  
How long had it all took? He still isn't done.  
  
His feet are also covered in ugly veins. He can feel the roots. In fact...  
  
_scrrratch!_  
  
No. He's not sinking them. Screw destiny. He pulled as hard as he could. And then, he rolled his tongue in his mouth a few times.  
  
Tasteless. But then, roots don't taste, don't they? He's not hungry anyway. And if he is, he want food. He refuse to let those things do anything for him. It just feels... wrong.  
  
All of this is wrong.  
  
Cut. Cut. More cut.  
  
...  
  
At least, roots are easier to cut. But by now, he was hurting so much that the world was growing blurry. Was it a headache from all the pain or tears? Didn't matter. Don't care. He's so tired. So tired.  
  
He should carve claws out of those roots too. Just... cut higher and higher. Then reshape them. He almost got to that point. But he was so tired and he laid down and...  
  
...  
  
Damn it. He feels...  
  
Branch from left elbow and sticking out the side of his waist.  
  
Extra growths can thankfully be truly removed completely but he's just... tired. How long has he been going at it? The sun is quite a bit lower than when he started.  
  
He shouldn't delay trimming down so much, next time.  
  
Just gotta... jam claws at the base of where the extra branches are. Ignore pain. Dig into the flesh, ignore the blood pouring out. Then, extract them, from the base, taking out the part that has been trying to start becoming plant-like. Like an arrow in his flesh. Remove it. Ignore the bleeding hole. Or the sensation as the root-like extra veins pull on his nerves as he remove them.

... use Regeneration. Oh yeah. Use it so much. He can't leave holes in his body. Also, stopping his new claws from bleeding is good. Just... gotta do this.  
  
Finish with tail? Or maybe the ears?  
  
Maybe trim his main leaf? Or that annoying vine sticking out of his neck? They hurt too much, when he last tried.  
  
Most people remove soft yellow stuff when they clean their ears. Not large leaves, thorns, and vines that spontaneously grown there.  
  
... he remember his tail was once so flexible. Now it's so stiff. And it split off in two. And it grow leaves.  
  
He's tired.  
  
He shouldn't sleep here. He's surrounded by sticks, twigs, pieces of bloody logs. Literally too. When you cut normal wood from ordinary trees, it's all so... clean. But this wood... it bleeds. There is a pool of red under it.  
  
He pondered...  
  
Does a Spirit Tree leave a pool of blood when you cut it down? He know that when withered, they just topple or split without leaving anything behind. But then, they're hollowed out husks, like any other dead tree.  
  
He had places to go, things to do today. Instead, he spent his day trimming down. And he need to clean himself. And the growths on his feet need to be reshaped into claws too.  
  
...  
  
Reluctantly, he got up. He grabbed the gargantuan leaf that grown from his neck and adjusted it so it rested over his body like a makeshift cape. The vine, meanwhile, he pushed away. He sighed. His entire body was hurting by now. Still he felt... so light. So free. So... weightless. For a moment, he simply stood there and flexed his fingers slowly, marveling at how... free and devoid of dead weight he felt.  
  
So light, so flexible...  
  
He guess... that will be all for now. He can always do finishing touches once he's back. For now, his fur is all gummy. And he's tired.  
  
The freakishly tall spirit carried on. Just another day...


End file.
